


Vanderwood x Reader Organic Means Healthy, Right?

by Empress_Nocturne



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: 3rd person focusing on vanderwood let's go boys, 707 is more mentioned in this story but doesn't play a massive role hahahahahahahaha, F/M, anyways i digress, he's trying to yeet away the feels but gives up bc let's be real he's accepted it now, hohohohoho yes organic means healthy sure, i really tried my best thooooo, this is my first time writing vanderwood so if it comes across as ooc that's why, well relatively and depends on the food but like whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 08:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18796714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empress_Nocturne/pseuds/Empress_Nocturne
Summary: Vanderwood just wants to work out, but his thoughts wander to you. Of course, he doesn't check his phone while he works out, so... surprise. Oh, and you apparently think something being organic automatically makes it healthier.





	Vanderwood x Reader Organic Means Healthy, Right?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!! This is my first Vanderwood fic, so I hope you like it! Leave me a comment about how I did, if you'd like. I'm considering developing an OC besides my main one, Chin-Sun, who'd interact with him a lot so I need to really get his character down! Hope you like it! If you're interested in Chin-Sun at all for any reason, the link to her fic will be in the endnote, along with my Zen x Reader fic!

Vanderwood could feel his muscles scream in protest after he’d completed his twentieth pull-up in a row, yet here he was completing his thirtieth. Barely. He released himself from the bar before his tired body forced him to lose his grip. Thirty pull-ups. Not bad, he thought to himself, blowing his bangs out of his face.

You had insisted he wear a headband to work out in, but whatever. He barely knew you anyways, and only because 707 insisted he watch you over camera every so often. For safety. But seriously, it was odd that a party planner for a charity organization required this much security. Though after all that had happened, Vanderwood could see why.

...he lied. He knew you pretty well and you knew him as well as anyone could with the amount of secrecy he needed.

You were too nice, he mused to himself. Or too gullible. He loaded a bar until it weighed a good amount of kilograms, situated it on his shoulders, moved away from the stand, and began his squats. One, two… slow down, fast up. Let it burn.

Of course, he couldn’t work out too hard, since soreness and tight muscles could be the difference in speed of reaction that determined life or death. He frowned. If he bled out just because his shoulder was too sore to pull his own gun fast enough, that’d be so dumb.

Speaking of dumb, 707 kept worming out of doing work for the agency by claiming he was going to help you unpack in your new apartment, but wormed out of that by claiming he was swamped because of the agency. It was a never-ending cycle, and it was a miracle that they’d even managed to get the security cameras installed there. And yet, 707 had the time to build a happy yellow robot, about waist-high on Vanderwood, that would move around the ground like some kind of Roomba and make ice cream. Then serve the ice cream in a cup. Pushed out from a closeable opening at the top. “A gift for my brother!” 707 had said, as if the hospital would allow that kind of gift. The robot, after 707 failed to sneak it in the ward, now zoomed around the floor of your place and 707 was beginning to make a second version.

He lifted the bar over his head, held it up for a second, then on impulse let it drop. He grunted. How many squats did he do? From the burn in his glutes, enough.

Okay. He’d already gone through most of his workout, so all he needed to do were abs. He laid on the floor and got into sit-up position, then began with scarcely a moment to breathe after his squats.

Seriously, why did 707 have a small, functioning gym in his place if he didn’t use it? Bastard just ate chips and soda and somehow, through some freak of nature, had ‘abs’. But if Vanderwood poked them, there was little substance. Just showy. He was still shockingly strong, though, for a man with his level of exercise and terrible diet.

However, when he’d first met you, while 707 was housing you recently, he couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t notice much when you’d hugged 707 in thanks. This mattered only because you’d hugged Vanderwood soon after. Thanks for putting up with you and 707. But when you had, you’d gasped just slightly when your hands touched his back and your cheek pressed against his chest. He would have been a bit embarrassed, but then he’d chalked it up to stress, so he decided to take the nice route and hugged you back.

707 would not stop joking about how Vanderwood’s face was “so red, it could dye my brother’s hair back to its natural shade”. Of course, he’d smacked the back of 707’s head every time he’d made a joke, or smack his shoulder, or snatch away his current bag of chips, until finally he had to threaten to taser 707. He nearly did, since 707 had then joked about him being flustered by the question “like a middle school child asking if they have a crush on the popular kid”. Ugh.

If he was honest, he may have been overreacting, but why? Why would he react like that? It’s not like he thought you were cute since he’d first seen you, or that he liked how you didn’t take 707’s shit. It also wasn’t the fact that you might find him attractive, or how your eyes lit up when you smiled at him, or-

“Stop it,” he muttered to himself. Even if all those were true, even if you may possibly find him attractive, even if you may laugh and smile at all of his dry humor and sarcastic jokes, even if you always make sure he’s doing alright… too dangerous. His job is too dangerous for anything to happen. 

Oh god okay his abs were saying no more crunches no more sit ups. He flung himself up one last time and posted himself on his hands. Ugh. He’d sped up and lost count and now he didn’t know how many he’d done. Curse you. Not actually, though, you didn’t deserve that.

He forced himself to get up and walk to his water bottle. Stay hydrated, after all. On a whim, he checked his personal phone (completely safe to have after his adjustments and precautions, of course) and furrowed his brows slightly when he saw the series of messages from you.

You: Hey vandy!!! i’m coming over today! ✧⁺⸜(●′▾‵●)⸝⁺✧

You: i’m bringing stuff!!! Like snackss and things!! they’re Healthy™ tho so hope ur ok

You: wait organic means its healthy right YOU MOTHERFUCKER DON’T CUT ME OFF AAAAA sorry started driving using voice to text I’LL DRIVE YOUR ASS INTO HELL HONK YOURSELF

You: it’s a surprise for seven oh seven so lol. So thoughtful of you to allow me access into his place should i need anything

You: i know it’s not an emergency - just wanted to see you! And seven oh seven but I’LL SHOVE YOUR TIRES UP YOUR ASS

You: alright i parked and i was safe so Don’t Worry!! ヽ(^◇^*)/ coming in now!

You: 707 said you were in his home gym so that’s why you didn’t respond lolol~ I’ll be there in a sec! Maybe i’ll catch you working out (●♡∀♡))ヾ☆*。

What. Now that he listened, he could hear rapid footsteps. Despite his completed workout, Vanderwood dropped his phone and rushed to the nearest thing he could do: pull-ups again. Closest thing he could do. The door opened just as he glanced over while grabbing the bar. Crap. You clearly saw him checking to see if you were there and saw him just start pull-ups.

Why was he doing more? Was it because it seemed like you wanted to see him do them? Or were you just joking?

Well, he was wearing a tank top. So that’s in his favor, at least.

“Vandy!” you called, footsteps coming to a stop near him. “Hi! Looks like you’re finishing up your workout, huh?”

Okay, you didn’t see him start pull-ups just to make sure you saw him doing them.

“Yeah,” he replied. His voice stayed steady and didn’t sound breathless. Good. He pulled up again, core taught and muscles flexing. Steady, steady.

“Nice, nice,” you said, and Vanderwood glanced at your expression from the corner of his eye. You were nodding. And looking at his arms. Before he could stop himself, he smirked a bit. Was he showing off a little? Yes. He honestly couldn’t deny that.

“How long did it take you to build all that up?” you asked, gesturing at his body. He nearly released his grips, all he could do was keep his expression steady.

“A while. Steady training.”

“...it shows,” you muttered and Vanderwood released his grip, managing to stay steady when he landed. That was really bold. He didn’t respond, instead brushing his bangs out of his face and reaching up to grab the bar again. Hanging, he began tucking his knees to his chests - more core workout.

“Do your ears normally turn red while you work out?” you asked, appearing innocent, but he could hear the teasing edge in your voice. He nearly choked on air, but turned it into grunt.

“No..?” He huffed a bit as he continued.

“They’re red now.” You smiled. He picked it up in an instant. You knew you were getting Vanderwood a bit flustered.

“No they’re not,” he snapped back, a bit too childish, and he internally smacked himself. Your smile grew more cheshire-like. You knew that he knew that you knew he was flustered, and you knew that he was obviously lying about his ears being red. Stupid tell.

“Aww. You’re embarrassed about the work you put into staying in shape, yet you seemed like you rushed to work out just for me~ Did you see my texts just then and decided to keep working out?”

Here, he could feel his face flush more and it wasn’t just fatigue. With a huff, he dropped back to the ground, hands shaky from his hard grip and muscles screaming from overworking them. Just a bit. You looked downright impish, honestly.

“Yes.” There. That’s the truth. It was his turn to smirk as you blinked, expression flipping from smug to surprised in an instant. 

“Oh.” 

Was that all you had to say? You blinked again and Vanderwood decided now was a good time to stretch, so he began pulling his left arm straight across his chest, all while maintaining eye contact. You opened your mouth, shut it, then opened it again. You were wearing lip gloss, he thought. Were you? Maybe.

“Thanks for indulging me with the show, then.” You grinned, though you were clearly trying to get yourself back onto that podium of confidence you’d walked in on. Well, if he judged by the darkening of your cheeks.

“My pleasure.” His smirk grew as you blushed a bit more. There. See how that feels? Take that! Besides, anyone would be embarrassed to be caught actively wanting to watch a hot person work out. Well, most. And assuming you were one of those people. And assuming you thought he was hot.

Who was he kidding. Vanderwood’s an attractive man. He knows this. Even if 707 calls him his maid.

He wrinkled his nose just a bit. He really was like a maid when he thought about it.

“So, did 707 like your gift for him?” he asked. He was nearly done with standing stretches.

“I think he did. Organic brownies. I saved some for you, but I left them on a counter somewhere out there. Or a tabletop.”

“...brownies aren’t healthy.”

“I asked if organic means healthy and you didn’t respond, so…?”

He looked at you, deadpan, completely serious. “Shouldn’t you know this?”

You merely shrugged, unphased. “I mean, I felt like it wasn’t healthy, but everyone’s going on about how organic is good for you, plus they were more expensive to buy than normal brownies, so…”

“...that logic may be sound, but it’s incorrect.” He bent at the waist and, legs straight, pressed his palms to the floor. Flat. If he glanced at you through his bangs and eyelashes, he could swear you were trying to eye his… back inconspicuously. 

“If I knew you were coming to the gym just to ogle me, I’d have finished earlier,” he said. A lie.

“No, you wouldn’t have. You looked like a deer in headlights when I came in. Kinda nervous.” You caught him and he couldn’t stop the small “fuck” escaping his mouth. You laughed, voice airy.

“Gotcha. But seriously, I didn’t mention it, but I brought something for you, too.”

He wrapped his hands around the backs of his knees, forehead pressing against his legs. “Didn’t have to.”

“But I did. And you’re gonna keep it.”

“I’m scared to know what it is.”

He heard you scoff as he straightened himself back up, maybe or maybe not purposefully trying to show off his physique and face as he did so.

“You don’t trust me?” you asked, half teasing and half pouting, lower lip sticking out. You were wearing lip gloss, yeah.

“I don’t trust anyone. I don’t trust you farther than I can throw you.”

“But you could throw me easily.”

“...you know what I mean.”

“This’ll make you change your mind.”

With that, you reached into your purse and pulled out a leopard-print water bottle. It looked really nice, actually, like one of those upper-end water bottle brands or something. Was it a bottle? It was metal. No wait. That shape means it’s a tumbler.  
“For all your coffee, water, and whatever else needs!” you proudly proclaimed! “Energy drinks included! You probably need that dealing with 707. Seriously, how do you deal with his energy?”

He dealt because he wasn’t always wearing that super-happy-cheerful facade - it was the lows that concerned him. But you didn’t know that and he appreciated the joke. He took the bottle and turned it over, inspecting it. You’d washed it for him, even. He looked you dead in the eyes, expression dead serious, though ruined by his deeper-than-normal breaths (thanks working out).

“What’s wrong? Y-you don’t like it? I can, um, return it, or get you a new one, or…” You were getting flustered, genuinely worried. Furrowed brows and everything.

“...I decided I trust you now,” he said.

Your face froze, but a smile grew soon and you began laughing. Honestly, almost cackling. He couldn’t help but smile and laugh along and soon you were both nearly wheezing, you still losing your shit over his humor and him losing his shit just because your joy was contagious. You managed to recollect yourself before he could.

“You know, the store I went to? All- all there stuff is animal print theme. And good for- for the environment, too! Like, sup-super eco-friendly and conscious. We could go together. Or something. If it’s safe.” You beamed up at him and he blinked, laughter already dead but his smile freezing a bit.

Not in a bad way, though. Just. Wow. You were bold.

“You know, um-”

You cut him off. “You don’t have to respond, silly question. I mean, you have all that-” You gestured as him head to toe “-going on for you, plus agent stuff, and yeah. Just thought it might be cool to eye the wares, check out this cute crepe place near it, walk around for a bit if you could-”

“Sure. I can try to figure something out.” There. Fuck it. His job and life were dangerous. Yeah. But he’s a smart man. 707 is a literal genius and presumably cared about both you and him. And let’s be real, he’s had less on-the-field missions than he used to. And his list of enemies that could track him was full of dead people, as far as he knew, if personal recollection didn’t fail him.

You blinked. “Oh. You said yes?”

“Yeah.”

“...huh.” You nodded, bringing your finger to your lips, as if deep in thought. “Didn’t think you would.”

“I look forward to it, actually.”

“Same! Especially the crepe part.”

He laughed, smile softening. “Yeah, especially that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Chin-Sun: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14009691/chapters/32262042  
> Zen x Reader: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13973385


End file.
